The Happening
by RosyRose1345
Summary: An episode from the married life of Usui & Misaki. Dr. Usui fails to save a life.
1. Chapter 1

"One.. two.. three.."

An agitated voice punctuated the dense air of the emergency room.

Figures clad in blue scrubs stood motionless around the bed and the tall man hovering over it. After the heartmonitor had smoothened to flatline, they had stopped using the defibrallator. The doctor had resorted to pumping the patient's heart back to life.

A pair of mad eyes fixated on the face of the unconscious young woman, his hands continuing the ministrations.

"One, two, three.." The anxiety in his tone was overshadowed by the controlled, almost robotic persistence.

 _Nothing_.

The light in her eyes had already faded, indicated by the cruel monotonous sound of the heartmonitor few minutes ago. He had felt her heartbeat descending steadily into paralysis beneath his fingers. He had wittnessed the desperate glint in her eyes – fear, will to live - extinguishing, slowly being replaced by a black dullness, an empty darkness.

He could not give up.

The humid air suffocated him. With a quick flicker of his shoulder he shifted his surgical mask off his mouth.

"One.. Two.. Three" He panted, feeling his shallow breaths clogging up his throat in panic.

 _Please_.

One of the assistants approached him wearily as if he were a dangerous animal. He reached out an arm to lay a hand gently on his shoulderblade.

"Doctor Usui.." He hesitated, but seeing his face, stepped away. There was a manic, primordial in the doctor's expression.

"One.. Two.. Three". His voice was calm and sinister.

He knew his ministrations were too rough, risking broken diaphragm. But she - _they_ – were slipping off his hands.

"Doctor.. There is no.."

"Shut up." A feral snarl erupted from his gut. The assistants glanced at each other helplessly.

"One..two..three". His own sweat was stinging his eyes. His jaw clentched, as his hands kept moving of their own.

* * *

She was awoken by the sound of the door of the apartment closing.

Opening one eye, she squinted at the clock on the bedside table. 1:28 AM.

She willed herself to move, but her body - still immobilized by sleep - failed to comply.

She heard his steady footsteps reaching the bed.

At least he was not drunk - she could tell that from the sound of his controlled, quiet movements. She could hear him taking off his tie - the silky texture sliding off the collar of his shirt with a smooth swoosh. She could visualize his long fingers opening his belt with efficient movements.

Few hours ago, when the Chinese dinner she had bought for them on her way from work had gotten cold, she had finally called him. He said there were some problems in the hospital and that he would be late.

She had believed him immediately. Had he ever given her a reason to distrust him? Or perhaps his dull, almost inaudible voice had convinced her readily that he was under an unprecedented amount of stress.

 _Even great Usui has bad days at work_ , she had thought to herself wrily.

But now, as he slipped under the bedcovers, she felt doubt tugging at her heart. He had not touched her.

In past, after particularly busy days at work, sometimes they would go to bed right after dinner. But regardless how exhausted and unromantic they felt, he had never gone to sleep without planting a small kiss on her cheek or spooning her with a relieved sigh.

Now as she felt slight tug of the blanket, she knew he had turned his back at her. Something was wrong.

 _We'll talk tomorrow_ , she thought, tired, before letting sleep wash away her worries.


	2. Chapter 2

"No!"

He bolted up in the sitting position so fast that a cramp shot through his spine like electricity.

He heard her moan softly in response to the noise he had made. Still panting heavily, he clamped his mouth shut to keep himself quiet. His shaking hands clentched into fists.

His gaze focused on her face. She had shifted her position, but was still asleep.

Thank god.

Last thing he needed was her waking up to see him in the state, his face drenched with sweat..and tears? He wiped away the moisture from his cheek, staring at the wet fingers in idle disbelief.

With great care, he laid down again, his hands shooting up into his hair for leverage. He shut his eyes tight, trying to control his erratic breathing. _Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth_.

"Just a nightmare" - he mouthed the words into the darkness. Except it was not. He wished the terrifying images had merely been a product of his morbid sub-conscious.

The emergency room.

The covered body.

The strange shapes he had started seeing forming on the wall after staring at it for an hour after everybody had left.

Concerned voices and worried faces entering his field of vision .

The glass of water someone had left sitting in front of him on the floor.

Another whimper drew his attention back to her. He noticed his sudden movements had pulled the cover off her torso and she was now trying to keep herself warm by wrapping her arms around her in her sleep. Her nightie had ridden up, revealing the soft swelling of her belly covered in goosebumps.

With utmost care, he brushed the soft skin right above her navel, his eyes searching her face for any sign of disturbance.

Reassured by her peaceful sleeping expression, he shifted closer to her, his face half an inch close to her temple, close enough for him to drink in her unique scent.

His palm flattened over the bump. He stared at her profile unblinkingly, letting the familiar sight expel the terrible images from his head.

Few minutes passed before his heartbeat returned back to normal. A quick glance at the bedside clock showed him he still had a good couple of hours before work, but he knew he would not be able to go back to sleep.

He inhaled her scent for the last time and slid out of the bed, making his way to the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

"I see." Misaki clicked her tongue, trying to suppress a sigh. "Thank you."

She hung up and exhaled loudly. It was past eight in the evening and he was late again.

Two days had passed since Takumi had started acting distant and cold towards her - returning home late and leaving early in the morning. For an hour or two they got to spend in each other's company, he would act taciturn, even unresponsive.

Finally, she had worked up the courage to call one of his collegues, who thankfully happened to be a family friend too.

At least now she knew the reason for his odd behaviour. For the first time in Usui's carreer, he had failed to save a life. A car-crash victim. She could only imagine what he felt, she thought as she sat on the bed, her hands clutching the phone limply. Still, it had been humiliating having to find out the information from a third party, letting him know that her own husband would not confide in her.

However, the anger was overshadowed by sickening worry: he had been looking pale and gaunt, and he was clearly not getting enough sleep.

Each morning upon waking up, she would smell freshly prepared blueberry pancakes. She knew that he made them for her because it was the only breakfast she could keep down during the second month of her pregnancy. The sweet gesture was the only thing that helped Misaki keep her wits on and kept her from invading the space he was so obviously trying to keep.

She knew he was proud and self-reliant and would do anything to keep her out of his inner struggle. She had hoped whatever he was going through would pass, but after two days, her patience had started to wear thin.

She hung her suit inside the wardrobe, catching a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirror. Her body was definitely changing – her breasts felt heavy and her stomach was beginning to stick out. But it was not just her body that was undergoing transformation. Pregnancy had made her more perceptive, sensitive to her surroundings. It had heightened her senses, thus every shift, every change in his behaviour affected her. Regardless his need for privacy and his pride, she decided, he would have to open up to her.

* * *

The water was too hot, but she welcomed the slight biting burn on her skin as she stood under the stream motionless, her face upturned. She swept her hair out of the way, smoothening it over her skull.

As she heard the bathroom door open, she smiled at the fortunate timing. She knew how he saw her in that moment – her lifted arms hoisting up her breasts, stretching her body. She held the posture, slicking back her hair behind her ears leisurely, her sensual movements inviting him in wordessly.

She did not react when she felt his arm snaking around her waist, another hand brushing a small trail from her shoulder to her collarbone. She sighed in pleasure when the bare skin of his body pressed gently against her back.

His masculine scent made her insides clentch deliciously. She bit her tongue to keep sound from escaping her throat as a pair of lips left a featherly kiss behind her ear.

She did not turn, so that he would not see the relieved expression on her face. Maybe he was ready to let her in. She had missed him so much.

"Forgive me". A soft murmur was almost drowned out by the splashing water, but she did not care. Her hand trailed down to reach his palm now resting on her belly, intertwining their fingers. Turning her head, for a second she caught a cloud of saddness in his eyes before his soft lips captured hers in a soft, yet intense kiss.

As the kiss deepened, she turned to face him, embracing him fully. The sound he made beneath his breath was filled with so much longing and disstress that her heart welled up with all the love she felt for him.

Breaking the kiss, she finally examined her husband's face. He was not escaping from her anymore, but gone was the sorrow she had detected in his eyes a moment before. All she could see now was lust and something else - an intense, dangerous expression that eluded, yet stimulated her tremendously.

Her insides shuddered and she knew he felt it too, his member hardening against her stomach even more.

She leaned in to kiss him again, this time hotly, wetly, expressing all the pent-up emotions she had been nursing. His breath hitched, as one of her hands travelled down to his groin, long fingers clasping around him.

She was aroused beyond belief, but somehow she felt this moment was not about her. She felt an overwhelming need to tend to him, take care of him. She had never seen him in such a fragile state and wanted to relieve him without any distractions. She sighed in approval as he groaned inside her ear helplessly.

With the free hand she grabbed douche gel and spilled a handful onto his member. His embrace tightened around her as she stroked him with a steady, slick speed, her lips nipping at his throat.

He grabbed one of her buttocks in a firm, almost painful grip, breathing her name like a mantra. She bit the skin above his adam's apple, expecting him to come apart at any second.

"Stop."

What?

Her eyes shot open.

"Misaki.. I can't."

He was breathing heavily and his face was contorted with pleasure, but also - pain. His hand grabbed hers, stilling her movements.

Still grasping his pulsating member, she stared at him in disbelief. Their gazes locked for a moment, a wordless plea and then - an understanding - passing between them.

With a heavy sigh, he pressed his back against the wall, as if to cool himself down. He leaned back his head.

"I'm sorry, I'm too tired." He shut his eyes in resignation.

Staring at the ground for a minute, she tried to gather her thoughts.

"I'll... leave you to freshen up." She grabbed a towel from the rack and stepped out of the shower, away from him.


	4. Chapter 4

The car leapt almost soundlessly over the road stretched in the valley of low hills. The asphalt was covered with magnolia flowers: the delicate fusion of white and pink specks splattered over the charcoal gray surface.

It was Sunday evening and they were returning from a country birthday party of a friend of Misaki's.

His large hands covering the wheel effortlessly maneuvered the vehicle, and his eyes - narrowed despite the disarming serenity of the landscape - glued onto the road in sharp focus.

They were not even passing through a folliage, he thought, but rather encountering sparse rows of the trees scattered along the freeway. Where did such an abundant heap of flowers come from then? - he wondered.

It was quite beautiful, he had to admit. Yet the the falling magnolias stirred a vague feeling of disgust in his gut. The petals - torn away from the branches by the breeze were, after all in the first stage of decay.

That's what they were, he thought, dying beautiful little things, dancing in the air. It was ironic how they took one's breath away as slowly life left them, only to end up rotting away on the ground like roadkill.

He glanced at her sitting beside him. She was half-heartedly playing with the radio switch, her unfocused eyes captivated by the scenery.

He smiled when she made a little face as she encountered a particularly rough patch. A loud unpleasant noise roared for a second or two, before she quickly resumed her search. She was trying to find a tune that matched the view.

It was a hot day and despite the airconditioning in the car a wet cur was clinging on her sweaty neck.

His eyes fell on her stomach.

The foetus growing inside her was in its first stage of life, he thought, and something in his throat tightened. The uncomfortable feeling spread through his neck, descending lower through his spine. His shoulders tensed up.

 _Get it together_. _Focus._

"A-ha !" She had finally settled on a tune she approved of, smiling delightedly. She leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes as the soft, smokey voice of a female singer filled the interior of the car.

"Nice." As he spoke he felt her contemplative eyes latching onto his profile, studying him silently.

He had been trying his best to ease up around her, knowing she was worried about him. He was grateful to her for giving him space and not trying to get to the core of his recent state. Sometimes, however, he could not help but wonder if she believed him to be stronger than he really was.

When she started singing along the tune, half-forgetting the lyrics and making up her own lines along the way, he hummed along. Their eyes met briefly and a semblance of a smile crinkled up the corners of his eyes.

Yet he knew that the farce barely eluded her. He had felt her observing him when she thought he was distracted. He could feel her growing sense of helplessness and fear. She was afraid of him, alienated by the drastic change his personality had undergone.

Of course she would be: even he felt estranged from himself.

Softly, his voice synched with hers, trying to keep up with her.

* * *

The song ended, followed by the quiet voice of a man announcing the next musical piece: Cesar Franck, Sonata for violin and piano in A major.

This time the couple stayed silent, neither of them able to identify the unfamiliar tune.

Now this one definitely matched the atmopshere, she thought grimly, as she submitted herself to the melancholy poetry of the tune.

She stole a glance in his direction. His eyes betrayed the saddness of which she had been seeing less and less in the week following the incident at his work.

During the weekend, at the birthday party he had jovially chatted with the guests, charming everybody the way he always did. He had danced with her and stood by her with his arm wrapped protectively around the small of her back.

She had heard some guests commenting on the unusual pallor of his face, but from the swoony and gyshy tones she knew it made his presence even sharper and more seductive, with a hint of unnamed danger. She had overheard a couple of girls giggling and wondering between each other if he was exhausted by his wife, because there was no way she could keep her hands off that foxy speciman of a man.

She had smiled benevolently, playing along the spectacle, but she felt that the distance between them growing. His attempt to disguise the darkness looming in him produced a facade that she was not familiar with.

As if sensing her troubled thoughts, a comforting touch of his palm on her thigh shook her out of her reverie. Her eyes darted at him in surprise. His expressionless gaze was still plastered on the road, but the warmth of his palm was brushing the skin several inches above her knee. She gazed at it in wonder as his fingers pressed slightly into the flesh, rubbing her soothingly.

It had been too damn long. His touch had a more powerful effect on her senses than usual, she thought as she bit the tip of her tongue. The pregnancy hormones had been driving her crazy, leaving her body sore and tender. A mere touch of his hand made her body feel like a bundle of bare wires, shocking and electrocuting her.

She could not help recalling graphic images of his fingers digging into her thigh like that, but in rather different circumstances: when she straddled him in the lotus position, their foggy exhales mingling together, his wiry arms crushing her body close, so their sweaty chests pressed together as he supported her movements.

A car sped past them when his hand inched up higher on her leg. Thankfully it was moving too fast for the driver to wittness the scene playing out in the car. Not that it mattered.

She took a sharp inhale and shut her eyes, not making an effort to hide her arousal any longer. His touch was simply too delicious. She was addicted to how he made her feel. Lately whenever she had touched herself, in her mind she would revive the day she told him she was going off the birthcontrol. The look he had given her, a mixture of disbelief and awe. Or rather what had followed next, on the thick carpet across the fireplace.

A loud honking noise startled her, causing her eyes to shoot open and his hand to quickly recoil from her thigh.

A large truck loaded with tree logs had caught up with them and was now flancking their car. She blushed when the driver honked again, his loud laughter audible from the open window.

Her discomfort, however, did not last long. The feeling of embarrassment and irritation was replaced by a flash of panic, when all of a sudden she saw a lorry on the opposite lane approaching them at an alarmig speed. It started honking repeatedly at the truck still occupying the lane.

The distance between the two large vehicles quickly kept decreasing and Misaki knew that if the truck driver did not empty the lane, a collision would be inevitable.


	5. Chapter 5

She heard Usui curse loudly as he slowed down the car, trying to give the truck some space to drive in front of them on the lane.

In the last split second the truck shifted its position. Its tyres made a screetchig sound against the asphalt as it switched the lane and drove in front of them. The second the truck had vacated the parallel lane, the lorry roared past them, missing the truck by few centimeters.

Misaki gasped at the sudden movement of the truck that was now an inch away from the front of their car. A scream escaped her throat and she covered her face with her forearms. Usui hit the brakes and her body was violently restrained by the seatbelt as the car came to a standstill.

The truck halted a dozen of feet away.

Behind her closed eyelids, she could hear Takumi panting heavily, as she shook all over her body.

Her imagination betrayed her, conjuring up the images of a carnage that they had so closely evaded. She shut her eyes tighter, trying to dispel the images of the hypothetical gruesome bloodbath. When she opened her eyes she found herself clutching her stomach with both her hands. She could feel a dull pulse within the depths of the bump.

What happened next Misaki would later recall like a strange out-of-body experience.

 _Usui jumping out of the car in a bullet-like speed, before reaching inside the glove compartment to pull out a black metal object._

 _The truck driver tumbling down from the vehicle, shouting something in their direction._

 _The expression on his face changing from concern to horror at the sight of Usui pouncing at him._

 _The loud yelp he emitted when Usui pointed a gun at his head._

"Tak.. NO!" She sprang out of the car, whilst trying to fight off a rush of nausea.

The barrel of the gun was firmly pressed between the man's eyes. Usui did not move, but simply stood there, hovering over the man in his full height. The driver sputtered some incoherent strings of fragmented sentences. Few strands of hair were plastered over his bald skull.

"Takumi, don't! We're fine, nothing happened!" She reached out her hand to rest on his forearm, attempting to make him lower the gun. He didn't budge, his arm resisting the pressure.

She fought the urge to recoil from him. She had never seen the mad glint in his eyes that were locked on the driver's terrified face a foot below him. She could hear him grinding his teeth as the barrels dug deeper into the driver's forehead, bruising the skin there. The latter gave out a strangled cry, his shirt quickly drenching with cold sweat.

"Takumi, stop!" She begged, but she stopped her ministrations. She realized that her actions might encourage him to do something inconceivable. She looked around the empty freeway, as if expecting a divine intervention. The only sound that could be heard was a faint duet of bass and and synthesizer from the radio. Some sort of an '80ies disco song that was almost comically out of place considering the situation.

Suddenly Usui's calm tenor drowned out her pleading and the truck driver's sobbing.

"You piece of shit."

The sound of his voice made the truck-driver step back in horror despite having the weapon pointed at his forehead. Somehow being close to the blond man seemed more frightening than making an unexpected movement at the gunpoint. The voice contained so much disgust and venom that for a second he almost felt like giving up and accepting his impeding death. There was no way the tall madman was letting him live.

"You piece of shit", he repeated. This time the profanity came out in drawled whisper. The man, now standing a foot away from him, feebly held up his hands in front of him in a defensive gesture.

"You think another person's life is a joke", the words were spat out slowly, searingly, "don't you?"

"Please, I have children..", his voice shook. He regretted it immediately when his words got interrupted by a low growl from his assailant. The hand gripping the gun tightened around the handle till the skin over his knuckles whitened completely.

Misaki took advantage of the distance between the two men and took a determined step to stand between them, facing Usui.

For a split second, before he dropped down his arm, she got to look into the dark abyss of the barrels' two black holes. Yet somehow, she thought while meeting his gaze, they seemed less dark and sinister than Usui's eyes, the green barely coating the black pupils.

Her commanding voice was strong.

"Leave."

The man wasted no time running to his truck, almost tripping over his feet. Jumping into the driver's seat, he cast a quick backward glance at the unmoving pair still facing each other in the middle of the lane.

"You're one fucked up couple!" He shouted as he struggled to rev the engine up with his shaking hands.

Only after the sound of the truck faded did Usui blink. He looked down at the hand still clutching the gun, examining it with a furrowing brow, as if he did not know how it had ended up there.

He did not resist when she held out her hand. He handed it over, his eyes - now back to normal green - betraying apprehension as he awaited her reaction.

He seemed taken aback by the calmness with which she spoke next.

"Lets go."

He watched her walk determinedly back to their car, before following her at her heels. He occupied the passenger's seat, seeing that she had taken the driver's spot, her seatbelt already buckled.

She stared ahead for a minute or two before she spoke.

"I don't want to know why or where you got that gun. But here's what is going to happen, Takumi." Her voice still contained, she was using her "negotiating" tone he had heard her use in her professional life.

"Either you talk to me properly, open up about everything going on inside you and we proceed getting you the help you need," she paused, taking a sharp inhale, "or I'm moving out.. temporarily".

She looked at him. He remained silent, his gaze fixed on nothing ahead of him.

She felt angry tears welling up in her eyes. Suddenly she was overcome by an urge to hurt him, sear him, anything to provoke a human reaction.

"This is _not_ a time for your masculine pride, Usui," she gasped hoarsely. She flinched a little when his head snapped in her direction and a deep frown formed between his eyebrows, but she did not stop.

"Drop this superman nonsense! Can't you see it's eating you away?"

"You think this is about my pride?" Disbelief seeped through his quiet words. "You believe this has to do with my _ego_?"

She tore her eyes from his in defeat and reached out to switch off the radio.

Silence reiged in the car, the sound of cicadas' chirping interrupted only by few passing cars that would honk in protest of the disturbance they were causing by their immobility.

She waited. When he spoke again, his quiet tenor was almost drowned out by another car soaring past them.

She closed her eyes and swallowed the lump forming close to her goiter.

She had heard him fine.

* * *

It felt like forever before his key fit the lock of the door. He entered the apartment, throwing the keys with a practiced flick of his hand, aiming at a bowl on a shelf by the door. The metal rattled noisily as the chain missed its intended destination and ended up on the floor instead.

He unbuttoned his tux and looked around the empty apartment.

What was it he wanted to get, again? Right, the whiskey.

The golden liquid reached dangerously the rim of the glass before he stopped pouring. He didn't sit, but stood by the cabinet, gazing out of the window.

His eyes combed through the city lights, searching out the house she would be staying in.. temporarily. He gave up and downed the alcohol in big gulps without tasting it. He knew her old house wasn't visible from the window.

Feeling his blood slowly being heated up by the whiskey, he considered calling her to check if she had arrived home safely. He knew around this time Suzuna would already be home.

He had tried to convince her to allow him to move out to a hotel, but she had refused to hear any of it. He had no other home but theirs, she had reasoned, whereas she could always seek comfort of her old home where she had grown up. He had agreed in the end, knowing it was futile to argue. Even in the critical moments Misaki was lucid and methodic.

He put his phone down, changing his mind. He knew the sound of her voice now would cause him to break down, leading her to worry even more. He was done with worrying her. In her condition, giving her an unstressful environment to live in was the least he could do.

This was not a separation, he told himself. The solitude was good. Just what he needed. He could afford to let his guard down and.. be himself. He almost laughed at the last thought. Wasn't that exactly what she had been talking about in the car?

Exhaustion vacated his mind of all rational thoughts and he reached the bed, pulling back the duvet. After a moment of hesitation he walked to the other side of the bed, where she slept. He sat down and put down the now empty glass on the bedside table with a loud rattle.

Under the effect of liquor, however, the careless motion of his hand caused the glass to crash into a perfume bottle of Misaki's. He failed to catch the fragile flacon in time, as it toppled over the edge of the bedside table, shattering in million pieces.

He groaned - in annoyance and dismay, knowing Misaki loved the perfume. Wondering how it was possible that such a tiny little thing could cause such a huge mess, he bent down, unsure what to do, before a powerful wave of the perfume's scent - crisp, raw, strangely earthy, her favourite, the one she wore on a daily basis - deluged his senses through his nostrils. He shut his eyes, greedily submitting himself to the surge of random images, associations that filled, overflowed his head in a quick succession.

 _Freshly cut wood, a forest right after the rain, grass rippling in the breeze, freshly baked bread, flushed skin, ambers._

Eyes still closed, his lips twitched into a rueful smile . All the emotions were coming together in a small ball in his chest, threatening to burst.

Burying his face into his hands, he let go.


	6. Chapter 6

The car pulled into the small driveway in front of the loghouse. His lean form languidly poured out of the vehicle. One arm draped over the open door, he stood still for a minute, assessing the view.

The loghouse was the same as he remembered it: wedged in the small forest clearing surrounded by pine trees, it looked like it had naturally sprouted from the earth.

The last time he - they - had been here it was late August, when the summer days were becoming bitter-sweet in their ephemerality, bowing down to the first tremors of Autumn.

That morning, marking a week after their separation, he had called at Suzuna's house. To his surprise, Suzuna had told him that Misaki had gone to stay at the loghouse in the woods. He had bought it for her as their one-year anniversary gift.

Here he was now, without a speech, without anything. From the loud music coming out of the house he knew she was home. She probably had not even heard his car arrive. Or perhaps, he could not help thinking, she had heard him, but refused to come out to greet him.

Too late now, he thought and flexed his shoulderblades, trying to ease out the tension squaring up his shoulders as he walked in the direction of the front entrance.

A long string of clothesline was shileding his view of the frontyard.

He recognized the navy blue fabric secured onto the string with wooden pins. He recalled raven hair splayed over the very same bedsheets that were now rippling gently in the breeze.

When a gust of wind caused the fabric to sway, he caught a glimpse of her creamy limbs stretched onto a lounge chair.

Passing through the dry bedsheets, his heart swelled at the sight of her.

She seemed to be asleep, her head turned aside.

Approaching her, he cleared his throat so as to not scare her with his sudden appearance.

Pausing for a second, he took the advantage of her unconscious state to let his eyes feast on her white sundress-clad body while he still could, as he could not predict her reaction upon seeing him here.

He called out her name quietly, feeling a bit ridiculous at the surge of adrenaline that the simple act of uttering the syllables of her name caused, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

She shifted her position slightly. Stretching her arms above her head, she elongating her body like a cat with a soft sigh. A coil involuntarily tightened in his lower stomach.

He noticed the sunscreen lotion and a jug of iced tea sitting on the grass next to the loumge chair. Furrowing his brow, he wondered for how long she had been sleeping there, vulnerable in the open daylight.

Kneeling down, his one hand smoothened over her shoulder, savoring the feel of the goosebumps his touch elicited. Unable to resist, his index finger drew a ghostly trace over the spot where her shoulder met her collarbone.

He leaned back when her eyes shot out in a start. Unfocused ambers skimmed over his face, but she did not seemed surprised.

"Sorry to wake you up", he murmured, tentatively cracking an amiable smile.

"I wasn't sleeping", she croaked, her throat dry.

One hand reached out to touch the week-long stubble on his jaw.

"Nice beard."

His eyes smouldered with relief and fondness and he smiled effortlessly.

They observed each other in silence.

"You shouldn't be here, Misaki."

Her smile faltered at his words. Her hand dropping from his cheek, she examined his expression with a new eye. He was still smiling, but she detected a calculating glint in his gaze.

She cleared her throat before she spoke.

"What ?"

"You shoulnd't have come to stay here all alone – in the middle of the forest. It's not safe."

She groaned and rolled her eyes to hide her dissappointment. She shifted to get up.

So that's why he had come, she thought to herself with a sinking heart – to play the role of an over-protective husband again. Not because he had missed her madly, insupportably.

With a deep huff, she padded barefoot towards the cottage.

"Don't lecture me now, please. I was just beginning to relax. I'm just fine here, you don't need to worry". She kept some mirth in her voice nonetheless, trying to avoid a confrontation. He followed her into the house, following her path the kitchen.

He watched her quizzically as she reached the stove where a large casserole pot was simmering on low heat. She took off the hood and stirred the contents with a wooden spoon.

A faint smell of chicken, spring onions and coconut reached his nostrils.

"Why did you leave Suzuna's house?", he asked.

She did not look up, but kept stirring the pot with clumsy movements.

"She has a new boyfriend and I didn't feel like hanging around them like a third wheel".

He approached her, standing half a foot away from her.

"You do have a home."

She stopped for a second. Covering the pot, she balanced the spoon on top of it, before turning to face him.

He stood still as she examined his face.

He knew that despite the beard he looked better, healthier. He had taken a week off from work and his eating habits and sleeping schedule had improved. He knew he could never be the same: a part of him had died with the patient that had slipped off his hands. But he wanted - needed - her back and he could finally count on himself to not contaminate her with his pain.

He smiled at her pensive expression. She didn't resist when his hands encircled hers, thumbs feeling the soft skin on the inside of her wrists.

"Licht misses you".

A complex set of emotions crossed her face – doubt, suspicion, longing. Her eyes dropped to the buttons of his shirt on his stomach, unwilling to show him the torment she knew her eyes were betraying.

"I miss him too".

They stood motionless for a moment, an unspoken sentiment passing between then more clearly than the spoken word.

"Why don't you stay for dinner and.. we'll talk more."

He squeezed her wrists in gratitude, knowing what her answer meant. She wanted to observe the state of him, see if she could trust him.

Suddenly his expression turned neutral.

"So, you're cooking." The statement came out as a casual observation.

"As you can see". She narrowed her eyes at him, but could not resist mirroring his smile. "Why don't you go chop some wood? It gets pretty chilly here in the evenings."

Nodding, he reluctantly let go of her hands.

He made a beeline to the large fireplace to get the leather gloves he used for wood-chopping. He found them hanging where he had left them.

He looked around the room, the atmosphere of the space filling his heart with a rush of warm, biting nostalgia. The big, spacious room served as the kitchen, living room and dining room all in one.

As he spied dark clouds gathering in the sky from the oversized glass windows, he strode to the door, making a mental note to hurry up with his task.

Before he opened the door, he paused.

She was still in the kitchen, cutting bread.

"Why did you come _here_ , Misaki?"

She didn't stop, but looked up, their eyes locking across the room.

"Because we were happy here, once". In contrast with her words, the expression on her face remained impartial. "Chop-chop, Takumi".

He nodded, slipping the leather gloves over his hands. One hand on the door handle, he turned his head, as if remembering something.

"Hey."

Her quizzical eyes met his again, questioning.

He pulled down the door handle before speaking again. "I love you".


	7. Chapter 7

His movements were so calm, so controlled, she thought as she watched him from the window.

She brought the glass of water to her lips, taking sip. She was not done in the kitchen yet, but she had become distracted by the sight of him.

She observed his every movement: the way he rhythmically rose the axe over his head to bring its sharp edge down onto the wedges of wood, never missing, never making a clumsy movement. He was a force of nature, and even the forest seemed to have quieted down by his presence.

He had already ammassed several armfuls of wood, but he didn't seem to be stopping. Two large sweat-marks were appearing below his shoulderblades.

She shifted her seated position on the window sill. As she moved, her sensitive parts rubbed against the rough wood through her dress, making her aware of the reaction she was having upon watching him labor.

In that exact moment his head craned in her direction and their eyes met. She winced, realizing how he would be seeing her now – lips parted, cheeks flushed.

She smiled as neutrally as she could, to disguise the embarrassment caused by being caught ogling.

He straightened up into his full height, studying her for few seconds, before cracking a smile. An amiable, unassuming smile, not so different from hers.

Before she could react, a loud rumble shook the sky.

She saw his head snap up, taking in the dark clouds that had gathered over the forest clearing.

It first began as a drizzle, but in the matter of twenty seconds the sky seemed to have opened up. The downpour was so heavy she could barely make out his figure in the distance.

Suddenly she jumped up.

"Shit, the loundry!"

She ran towards the door, grabbed the large laundry basket she had left there earlier and scurried off to the clothesline where the bedsheets were quickly becoming drenched.

As she snatched the fabric off the string, not bothering with the clips, she saw him hurrying to the house. He was holding a large armful of cut wood in his arms with his shirt draped over it to protect it from getting wet.

He was close to the house when he suddenly halted on his feet, turning his head in her direction, hesitating.

"No, go!", she shouted, motioning him to go inside. Having dry wood to burn on the chilly night was more important than her getting soaked in the rain.

He nodded and soon his figure dissappeared inside the house.

* * *

"Jesus, what the hell was that!" She gasped as she flung the door shut behind her with her foot. Half-dropping the laundry basket at her feet, she eyed the contents ruefully. There was no way she was going to sleep in dry bedsheets that night.

She was in no better shape herself – her hair was completely drenched, as was her mid-thigh-length white summer dress, which clung to her body like a second skin. She shivered, rubbing her palms against her arms to spark some heat through her skin.

She looked up when she heard his footsteps approach her.

When she turned to face him, she caught him avert his eyes from her body to focus on her face. His arm stretched out, holding out a large bath towel.

Accepting it, she wrapped herself in it immediately.

"Thanks for the wood."

They both smiled at the innuendo, both knowing it had not been intentional.

"Anytime". The corners of his eyes crinkled, the way they always did when he was genuinely amused, or happy.

But before it could cause the amber of hope in her to ignite, he turned his back and walked to the fireplace.

Her heart dropped at the odd feeling. Was it rejection?

Suddenly she felt pathetic. Standing there, frozen in a wet summer dress, without even any underwear on, she felt like a stray cat - neglected and insignificant. Needy, demanding attention in indignant fury.

"You're allowed to look, you know". The casual tone of her voice softened the accusatory implication of the words. She waited for his reponse, tensing up.

Upon saying the words, the sick, deplorable feeling had increased in her gut, but she did not regret it. Had he not said he loved her fifteen minutes ago?

She swallowed hard, knowing very well that he could see right through her even when his gaze was averted from her. She knew that despite her laconic, offhand remark, he sensed how much she had been aching for him, craving him.

No response came.

She eyed his muscular back as he kneeled by the fireplace, piling up the wood wedges in a neat pyramid. His shoulder blades rippled from sweat and rain.

She tightened the hold of the bath-towel around her shoulders.

"Takumi, do you have a change of clothes ?", she asked as she watched him struggling to start fire.

"No," he answered without looking at her, "but it's fine, don't worry".

"Actually there're some of your old clothes in the bedroom wardrobe.. From the last time we were here..", she stopped short when she saw a small flame slowly lighting up the fireplace.

Carefully, he fed thin wood-chips to the weak flame, making sure it would not die out.

He rose on his feet and when he ran a hand through his hair, she knew he had not been completely unaffected by her words.

Deliberately, he turned in her direction, studying her from few feet away.

His eyes were surprisingly warm.

"You're shivering", he observed quietly, "you should change".

She hesitated for a second, before nodding.

* * *

The wet dress peeled off her body, falling on the floor with a splashy sound. Standing alone in the bedroom, she cocked her head to a side slightly, looking at herself into the large mirror hanging on the wall across her. She looked like a mess, her hair wild and all over the place, her skin a strange shade of pink from the brief sunbathing in the afternoon.

She ran her hands over the tiny bump on her belly. She wondered, half-heartedly, if the foetus could really sense her emotions. She sighed and pressed her fingers against the warm skin, wishing she could get through to the consciousness of the thing that had not even properly developed a brain. What would such a tiny, unformed human being make of such confusing, erratic rollercoaster of emotions?

She could sense him before she could see his reflection in the mirror - standing in the doorway.

His hand still on the doorknob, he stood motionless. She had not bothered with turning on the lights and the room was encompassed in semi-darkness.

Their gazes locked in the mirror, but even though his rain-drenched fringe was swept away from his eyes, she could not make out the expression on his face.

One step.

Two steps.

He stood behind her, not tearing his eyes off her reflection.

Her hands fell off her stomach and she stood there, naked, proud, afraid.

"What are you doing here?" She hardly recognized the voice that left her own throat.

He remained silent. Her heart stopped when a leather-clad hand brushed her hipbone, the palm folded over the angular edge.

His voice was low, deliberate.

"Looking."

She shivered. From the cold, from the anticipation and the pain.

She sighed and closed her eyes when the hand trailed up, feeling her ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of her breasts.

When his other palm covered the length of her throat in a possessive hold, keeping her in place, she breathed out his name.

"Don't start something you won't finish", she whimpered into the side of his throat, her nose barely brushing against his adam's apple. She whimpered when she felt him press against her back.

He was stilll wearing his leather gloves. The rough, yet slippery texture against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh felt both incredibly right and dangerously wrong.

She watched him as his head dipped, teeth capturing her earlobe. She wanted to turn her head to kiss him, look into his eyes, search out human emotions on his face, but she could not tear her gaze away from the mirror. She knew she would never forget the sight: him pressed so close to her, one large hand holding her throat, another wrapped around the crease of her inner thigh, where his fingertips brushed her skin almost imperceptibly in torturing strokes.

" _I want you to look at yourself, at what I'm going to do to you_ " were his last words she could lucidly process before she felt two leather-clad long fingers slip into her effortlessly, as if returning home.

The only sound that could be heard in the semi-dark room was the wet friction and her sighs, moans.

Cries.

The strength in her legs left her, making her lean her full weight into him.

She did not fall, did not beg him to let her sit or lay down, but watched him expertly play her body like a musical instrument, the crescendo and the climax. She watched him open-eyed all the way through. Her eyes fluttered shut only for a split second, just when the unberable pleasure wrecked her body like a strike of lightening. But she had kept her eyes open, just like he had demanded, challenged her to. Watching the strange writhing figure in his arms, letting out helpless cries, she felt like that was not her at all.

Only when it was over, his lips skimmed over her temple, brushing, not kissing the skin.

Her chest was still heaving, she looked into his face in the mirror, unable to see his eyes in the semi-lit room.

"Never again," the sanguinary growl resounded against her temple, "never assume that I don't want you.." Despite the wolfish quality of his voice, it sounded calm and contained in contrast with her loud breathing that bordered on whimpering. His mouth moved to her ear. "..that I don't crave to possess every inch of you, inside.. out." He nipped at the skin below her ear in-between the words.

Her body reacted to the words before her mind did, her inner walls clentching around his lingering fingers in a delicious inertia. She flushed with anger, annoyed at how easily he manipulated her body to do whatever he wished it to do, at the way he smirked into her cheek. She could picture his goddamn dimples and mirthful eyes.

"You don't fucking possess me". A half-hiss, half-whisper.

She wanted to get his hands off her, but there was no strength left in her body. It had all been drained by the incredible high he had made her experience. It had caused her to feel simultaneously broken and restored.

"I think I've made my point." With the flat words he planted a soft, uncharacteristically sweet kiss on her cheek, before letting her go. "Lets go eat."

And that was it, she thought as he shut the door behind him, leaving her spent form standing baffled in front of the mirror, as if nothing had happened.


End file.
